Tatters
by Taterborn
Summary: Freshly made Champion, Martel Hawke, mage, is now bullied into doing Meredith's work in the hopes that she will fumble and fall. Meredith sends her, alone, to examine a tear in the fade on Sundermount, but Hawke is determined to not only survive, but succeed and make the Knight-Commander look a fool.


"I need your help." Hawke watched for Fenris' reaction. He looked at her, but didn't speak. "Aveline is busy, Varric is on some Merchant's Guild business, I haven't seen Isabela in ages, Merrill won't even talk to me…" She trailed off.

"Your friend the abomination won't help you?" he asked pointedly, leaning back in his seat.

Hawke's jaw worked in silence for a few seconds. "It's not something he could help with. And I can't get in contact anyway."

Being Champion meant she could finally go public about being a mage without being thrown in the Gallows. It also meant a new level of scrutiny. Visiting Anders or interacting with him in any way could get him into trouble, and her killed by association. They'd pass a few messages now and again through Varric, but they were fewer and fewer every month.

Fenris didn't quite smile, but there was a smugness to his expression that he'd only acquired recently. "I thought the Champion didn't need help." One dark eyebrow raised, disappearing behind the white mop of hair.

Hawke stood abruptly, shoving her seat back. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

Her new armor clanked as she tromped out of the room. The old floorboards creaked under her. His chair scraped and he caught her arm just as she reached the stairs. She turned to look at him, glaring. They never talked now. They just argued or sat in sullen silence. They never even laughed anymore, rendering any relationship they may have had a thing of the past. Her last bit of safety was crushed under the title of 'Champion.' He was terrified of a mage in what he thought was a position of power; she was terrified of what he might do now that he stopped seeing her as 'Hawke' and began seeing her as 'mage.'

It was ironic, really. In becoming Meredith's personal beating stick, which should have made him trust her even more, negated their friendship entirely. Meredith was too clever by a half. She'd given Hawke chains in the guise of freedom and then put her in a cell separate from her friends.

"You never asked me for help before," he said, his smug tone gone.

"I never seemed to have ask at all. Until now." She picked his hand off of her arm and dropped it. He looked down, shifting his weight to his heels. "If you don't want to help me, then say so. I don't want to argue." Fabric scraped as she turned again.

"What do you need help with?"

She halted again, one foot on the next step. "Meredith and her Templars found a tear in the Veil. They want me to look at it, but refused to send Templars with me because they don't want me actually trying to close it yet. Not that I would trust them anyway. I think they _want_ me to get possessed or killed." She wasn't sure she could close it herself even if they wanted her to. It would probably kill her if a demon or a possession didn't. But that would be great support for the Knight-Commander. _Even your Champion succumbed to demons!_ _What hope do the rest of you have?_

"And just how am I to prevent that?" he demanded, glaring at her.

"By cutting my head off," she snapped.

"So you _intend_ to get possessed?"

"I _intend_ to come out fine, but doing magic and entering the Fade by a fucking hole in the Veil doesn't often turn out the way you intend!" Hawke clenched her fists, then let her shoulders sag, frustration turning to bitter humor. "You should be pleased. I trust you with the task of killing me." She rubbed her arm, now even the bitter humor fading. "You don't have an agenda. You could kill me fairly."

"I'm not sure that's something to be happy about."

The longer time went on, the more difficult it was for her to do things alone. Meredith continued to put her in worse and worse situations. This would be when most mages here turned to blood magic - when they didn't even know if they had anyone to help them. She would rather die than use blood magic, but truthfully, she would rather not have to be asked to make that decision at all.

Hawke raked gloved fingers through her hair and folded her arms. Fenris kept his weight on his heels, away from her, and stared down at their feet. It used to be that they could spend whole days talking quietly and listening to the city through his windows, but of late, all of Kirkwall had grown quiet. Even the Hightown nobility pulled their cloaks tightly around them and pressed on to their destinations; the Knight-Commander's rule did not discriminate. The whole manse was silent, holding its breath.

She wanted to beg him for help. But then maybe it would put him in danger, too. She was better at endangering people than saving them. And he'd been so cold lately. She hadn't behaved any better, but a little part of her selfishly didn't want him to know she missed him. Not when he didn't seem to miss her.

She unfolded her arms and ran her fingers through her hair again. "Maybe this is for the best. I should go. Meredith will think I've run off."

"Entering the Fade will involve lyrium, will it not?" he asked before she could hurry off.

"Yes. Not as much as usual. It's very thin."

"You can't handle lyrium yourself, as I recall."

She tapped a set of bottles strapped to her belt. They were made of dark glass, but she could sense the lyrium inside. "I just need to, ah, smell it. Sort of."

Fenris scrunched his eyes shut. When he opened them, he gave her a look she hadn't seen in a while - brows up, eyes wide. Elves and mabari were very good at that face and it made her melt every time. "You always rush into these matters without thinking first."

"Meredith didn't ask me, she ordered me."

His hand twitched in her direction, but faltered before he could decide what to do with it. "I'll come with you."

Her jaw worked. It had taken him so bloody long to agree she was no longer sure she wanted him with her. But he was still wearing that face. "Fine. Let's go. Hope your sword is sharp."

When Hawke had first helped get rid of the Qunari and then ran around Kirkwall helping fix what they'd broken, she'd been greeted with cheer and excitement. Now Kirkwallers looked away in fear, and she swept past them without a glance. It didn't matter what she'd given up and lost for them; all they saw was a mage. Self-detonating. Capable of leveling a city. Friend of demons. Probably sacrificed all the urchins that went missing to fuel her blood magic. She preferred having to hide her magic.

They left Kirkwall without incident. The Templars at the gates had been informed she would be passing through, though they probably sent a message to the Knight-Commander the second Hawke had passed them to tell her 'a strange tattooed elf is with her.' The farther they got from the city, the better she felt. Her pace slowed, and Fenris' with her, but she dared not make conversation. All they would do was argue again.

Their destination was a secondary peak of the Sundermount that set up a natural perimeter between Kirkwall and two neighboring Free Cities. It was a long way, but aside from the usual weariness that accompanied long, silent walks, she felt no different at first.

But at the base of Sundermount, as she picked out the path that would lead them up, she paused, tilting her head. Gooseflesh skittered down her arms.

"What's the matter?" Fenris asked, immediately on edge.

Hawke turned in place. "We're too far from the Dalish camp. It doesn't sound like Dalish music anyway."

He stared at her. "Music?"

She turned and focused on him. Or rather, his lyrium vallaslin. He leaned back on his heels uncertainly.

"Your… markings. They're… singing." She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and held them there. "Oh, Maker. It's the lyrium."

A headache was starting to spread from the base of her skull and up. Slowly, the ache was spreading to the rest of her body. It was the kind of ache that developed when she hadn't slept for days, when she was so tired of being plagued by a demon, she wanted to knock herself out just to rest. She scrambled to pull the bottles of lyrium away from her and shoved them into Fenris' hands.

"Keep them away for now. Being close to a tear magnifies the effects. And keep a few paces back. We're getting closer to the tear. It… agh."

He watched her rub her face and shake herself out, caught between concern and caution. After a few more moments of steeling herself, she set off again. Fenris followed, more slowly, keeping his distance as she'd advised.

"Hawke," he said as they proceeded up the steep path.

She grunted in response.

"Mages are endangered by lyrium, more so than most people."

She grunted again.

"How is it that when you and I… Why were you unaffected?"

Her walk slowed as she considered this. "Why don't you go insane?"

He gave one of his short, reluctant laughs. "Maybe I have."

She grinned to herself. "You could be worse."

He paused. "I did lose my memory."

"Not permanently. I think that was the pain that caused you to block it out. You said some of it came back." She remembered that discussion all too well. "Mental deterioration from lyrium tends to be permanent." Her pace quickened again. "It could be the amount is so small that it doesn't do much. Or it could be sealed with magic. I don't know anything about the ritual he used. Whatever it is, it's not strong enough around a tear."

It could be that in another ten years, he'd be like Samson, or any other old Templar who couldn't function properly thanks to the stuff. It could be ruining his innards. There was no way of knowing. It was more likely, however, that the magic used gave him some measure of protection. It was curious, then, that the Chantry didn't use such things to empower their Templars. Even if it was blood magic, it would be no different than the blood magic that helped their practice of keeping phylacteries. But then if they didn't need a constant lyrium supply, there was no way for the Chantry to ensure a lifetime of service. The thought made Hawke feel a little better about herself; maybe she got people killed just by being around, but at least she didn't feed her friends lyrium.

Their stops after that were more frequent and her pace became slower and slower. Hawke would have fallen asleep on her feet had Fenris not shouted at her. Finally, she could walk no further.

"This will have to be close enough," she said with a sigh. She picked a rock that looked relatively comfortable. It took her a few moments to gather her thoughts. "I'm surprised no spirits and demons have come across us yet, but it's likely that when I cross over, several will be attracted. I can try and prevent them from my side, but you'll have to keep a sharp eye."

With the staff she'd strapped to her back, she carved runes and glyphs in the dirt a good distance around the rock. They'd fought in tighter locations.

"Do you want to be on the inside or the outside of this?" she asked.

"What is it?"

"It's a ward. It keeps outside things from getting in and inside things from getting out." She rubbed her face wearily and ran her fingers through her hair. "If I turn into an abomination, I won't be able to leave, but you also won't be able to kill me without getting help to break the ward. Actually, you might, with those lyrium markings. But I'll also be protected from any spirits that come from outside the ward, meaning you would only have to look after yourself."

"Inside," he said immediately. She swallowed. He stepped in, careful not to smear her marks, and stood across from her. "I don't like this."

"Nor do I." Hawke tried to smile at him, but her mouth wouldn't cooperate. She bent to imbue the circle with power, but paused. "Fenris," she said, "if _anything_ starts to sound or smell or look strange, don't even wait to see what happens. Just…" She mimed a slice across her neck.

He nodded. "I will not see you suffer."

"Look after yourself."

"This is getting rather morbid, Hawke."

She managed a small laugh. "Sorry. I'll do my best so you don't have to kill me."

"I know you will." His brows furrowed suddenly. "How will you wake up?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it. "I'm… not sure." Her eyes matched his for how large they were. She had been afraid before, but it was the type of fear that gave her fight-or-flight instincts. This was just cold dread. "If I'm not back by nightfall, it's safe to assume I'm stuck. Just proceed as if I were possessed."

Fenris closed his eyes and bent his head. She turned and clumsily pressed some of her will into the circle. A soft light went up immediately around them, and with the Veil so weak, a little went a long way. It was stronger than what she could typically produce. She handed her staff to Fenris and sat down. They made eye contact. Whatever arguments they'd been having lately seemed to be set aside for the moment. The trust wasn't back, but like when they first met, there was an understanding. She nodded and he opened the bottles of the lyrium.

It was quiet at first, but then it seemed she had entered some sort of performance hall. It wasn't music that she knew. There were no instruments or voices. It was both cacophony and composition and the sound took the aches in her body away. It lulled her to sleep, like crickets and her dog's howling. Fenris flickered in front of her. His markings grew brighter and wrapped around her, pulsing along with the music.

Fenris watched her fall face-forward. It looked terribly uncomfortable. He frowned and drew closer to her. He unsheathed his sword and set it down beside them so he could sit and pull her face off the ground. She was completely limp and drooling a little. It was difficult not to laugh at that, but he gently settled her against him, brushing some dirt and drool from her face. He would better be able to tell if something was wrong like this, he told himself. But her breathing was steady and familiar and her weight a comfort.


End file.
